Infinite
by it-sdestinycalling
Summary: Peter returns to Westminster, London and meets a girl unlike all the other "Wendys". Together, the two discover the truth behind their pasts, their future, and realize that there is always hope.
1. Preview

_**Infinite.**_

The days will always be** brighter** because he existed. The nights will always be darker because he's gone. And no matter what anybody says about grief and about _time healing all wounds_, the truth is: there are certain sorrows that never fade away until the heart stops beating and the **last breath is taken**.


	2. Chapter One: Feels Like Home

**A/N:** I did a lot of research to write this story. I researched Westminster, Kensington Gardens, Westminster School, and spent countless hours researching _Peter Pan_. I'm not only talking about the novel and all the films. I also researched a lot of Peter Pan folklore and character analysis. I'm having a lot of fun writing this and I hope all of you reading this enjoy it. Please read and review. It'd mean so much to me! :)

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Walking down the streets of Westminster, London, a foreigner might confuse the city for a public pool. It was May and no trace of spring was visible in the city except for the 'April showers' that had chosen to extend their visit. The sun was a foreign concept throughout most of the year and sweaters were never out of style.

The streets were filled with people. Most of them seemed to have purpose and drive etched plainly in their features, obviously on some sort of mission that consisted of getting home after a long day at work or reaching the post office before it closed.

But not everyone on the street seemed to be moving towards something. One in particular, seemed to be attempting to get away from whatever was behind her. A uniform-clad girl walked purposefully past the gates of Kensington Gardens, looking back over her shoulder quick enough that a bystander might not have noticed.

The girl, Kirsten Leigh Bennett, breathed in deeply as she walked through the park, taking in the scent of roses and countless other flowers surrounding her. She loved the Gardens and walked through them on the way to her home every afternoon after school. Kirsten was not a fan of Westminster School and hurried home every afternoon unlike her peers. She had acquaintances, other girls and boys that she would talk to in class and sometimes go to the movies with, but she had never made any real friends.

"It's a dinosaur, Emily!"

"No, it's not, Dillon! It's a cat."

Two children argued with one another while lying on their backs, looking up at the clouds. Kirsten looked up at the shapes in the sky, wondering how anyone could see anything in the bright white balls of fluff. When she was younger, she was different from all the other children in her neighborhood. While they looked up at the clouds and called out what they could see, she would sit on a bench far enough away from them so they didn't notice her and berate herself because she couldn't see rabbits, puppies, or lollipops.

Kirsten slowed her pace and twirled her umbrella. She shifted her gaze above her and smiled at the raindrops falling on the clear plastic. The cloudy skies over her head and the slightly chilly air felt like home.

Westminster was the heart of London, in Kirsten's opinion. The streets were constantly filled with residents and tourists alike. She enjoyed the beautiful homes and historic cathedrals, but her favorite part of Westminster had to be Kensington Gardens. The park was so green, so big, and so beautiful. When she was younger, her father would stroll through the park pushing Kirsten in her stroller. When she was able to walk longer distances, he would take her hand and they would walk from their home to the grounds of Kensington Palace. Over a decade later, the sixteen year old still enjoyed their tradition of a daily stroll - even if her father had since passed away.

"Charlie, hurry up!"

Kirsten whipped her head around when she heard the familiar voice. A group of boys and girls about her age walked into the Gardens, laughing and fooling around. She knew them from school.

The boy whose voice she recognized, Owen Price, ran around, waving an open umbrella. Behind him, Charlotte "Charlie" Johnston, chased him. She continuously tried grabbing for the bright pink umbrella, giggling, but Owen was much faster and had better reflexes than her.

She stood and watched, amused, as Owen continued to tease his girlfriend. After a few minutes, Charlie finally grabbed hold of the umbrella. Owen pulled her close to him, dipped her in the rain, and kissed her.

Kirsten turned her head away from the happy couple to observe her other peers. The others, who she also recognized from Westminster School's sixth year, were acting childish and jumping into puddles. The boys had all taken off their blazers, loosened their ties, un-tucked their collared shirts, and were jumping into the puddles, trying to splash the other girls.

She had to admit, she was slightly envious of her classmates. They seemed to be having the times of their lives while she was walking home alone like she did every day. No one was trying to splash her, no boy was kissing her in the rain, and no one even knew she was staring at them.

Kirsten sighed and ran her fingers through her chestnut brown hair, realizing that it was beginning to frizz in the rain. She could already imagine her nanny freaking out and listing a dozen different remedies that would fix it. Kirsten decided that it was a much better idea to hurry home instead of letting Alice put a mix of lemon, honey, avocado, egg whites, and mayonnaise in her hair. Individually, each might work, but in a giant mix of citrus, dairy, and condiments … Kirsten knew that getting home and avoiding anymore frizz would be the better choice.

As she readjusted her own v-neck gray sweater vest over her white, fitted Oxford, she attempted to tune out the giggles of her fellow classmates. Kirsten looked down at her uniform. She had grown accustomed to the black, crème and gray plaid skirt over the year. The gray sweater vest and knee-high black socks didn't even bother her as much as they did at the beginning of the year when she started at Westminster School.

Kirsten watched her black mid-calf booted feet methodically step on the dampening ground on their usual path back to her house. Things weighed down on her mind as she went, ignoring the barreling cars and sudden noises coming from the liveliness of the town. Everyone was begging to get home, just as she intended.

A piercingly friendly greeting snapped her eyes up. A boy had fallen into step beside her along the way. He was just about her age, taller, with a build like a climber mixed with an avid runner. His eyes were bright and wandering, eyes of a dreamer.

"Hello?" She stammered a surprised response in hopes of losing him with a quickening of her step. Nervously, she shifted her books in her arm and fixed the fall of her hair with a brisk flip of the back of her hand. The rain was slowing, so she began trying to close and wrap her umbrella with her free hand.

"Allow me," The boy with the eyes of oceans and skies swiftly stole, fastened, and returned the dripping plastic bunch to her and smiled a smile so pure Kirsten felt the wind sharply caress her skin into vague goose bumps. Her steps quickened.

A thank you was mumbled; her brow furrowed as he followed. She watched her feet kick up excess water in front of her and minded the ancient cracks in the side walk as she went. Leaves were plastered to the ground with the passing showers and they molded to her toes. "That was really very nice of you, but I'd like to get home. Maybe I'll see you some other time?"

She paused just in time to come face to face with him. He had stopped in front of her and cocked his head to the side, staring intently at her expression. Her face reddened under the scrutiny and her eyes flickered to his to read his intent. "You realize you're … different." He stated matter of factly. His lively, soft lips eased into a smirk that seemed almost innocent, which made her cheeks darken in shades.

At this she stiffened a bit, and lost the color in her face. She hardened slightly and starred back, more so out of curiosity than out of fear. "What do you mean? You don't even know me."

His hair was messed, almost towel dried straight out of the shower. Dark with rain drops and smooth with youth. His nose was so close to hers that she could feel the air slipping out to graze her skin as she breathed. He leaned in close to her ear, adjusting the strands she'd missed in a panic. "I'd like to. Will you let me?"

She could see her home coming into view, classically wondrous with windows all around. Kirsten enjoyed how light would flow into them every morning and warm her mood. It took a lot to warm lonely souls.

"I'm sorry about that," the soft wave of the voice drifted into Kirsten's ears and warmed her chilly limbs.

"Excuse me?" She looked up, fascinated at the effect of this stranger's presence on her. "I'm sorry, but I really have to go. It's getting late. If you want-"

"I'm just new, I guess. Around here, at least. You seem so … different," a smile slipped from his mouth and spilled into her eyes like rain from Heaven. "What's your name?" His feet fell into step with her and his hands slide into his pockets. He was wearing worn jeans with holes and patches that could be considered fashionable now-a-days. A lazily thrown ivory sweater hugged his chest and enveloped his arms. Kirsten noticed it was such a nice color on his sun-kissed skin, as if he'd lived on the sun himself.

"Kirsten," She answered involuntarily, out of habit, maybe. "Yours?" she hugged her books a little tighter and looked up at him from under her eyelashes for fear of being captured again. Everything about her warded him away, but inside was a trickling feeling of … wonderment? Who's to say?

"Peter," he absently gazed away and up at something, but turned to give a reassuring smile. "Do you like it here?" The question seemed natural to him, like he was talking about school work or the afternoon high school soccer game scores from the night before.

"What do you mean?" She shook her head slightly and followed his gaze to where he had been staring. When she saw nothing , she looked back at her feet. "I've lived here my whole life."

As she approached the front of her home she spun to face him. He was watching her with a silent, hidden smile. "I have to go."

She paused and looked back. People around must have thought they were dazed lovers lingering together, postponing a goodbye. "It was nice meeting you," she uneasily extended her hand while carefully balancing her books and things in the other. Peter looked down at it, looked up, and widened the smile into a clever grin.

"It was lovely meeting you. I'll hope to be seeing you soon." And with the gentle goodbye he turned and glided away, smooth as the rain that fell. Almost no sound came from his soles compared to the bothered shuffle that flowed from hers.

She was struck by Peter, he'd woken her up. She was different, but so was he. An apple was lying astray from its place in a decorative basket Alice must've left to buy food at the market. Alice was a part-time nanny Kirsten's mother had hired to tend to the house and meals while she was gone on business trips. These 'trips' would last for weeks at a time. In a way, Alice had been raising Kirsten since her father had died eight years prior.

Chilled juice ran over Kirsten's lips as her teeth sunk into its core. On her way back to the front door, she retrieved her things and started making her way for the stairs. Up and around a corner or two, pass the baby grand, and around the desperately supreme study, she shoved open a heavy wooden door and into her room. Her things, again, fell to her feet as she tossed the apple core into a trash bin. She twisted in mid-air as she fell to her bed bouncing silk and lace pillows from far away lands around her. She closed her eyes and pressed one lazily to her face.

She wondered if his lips were softer than the pillow.

A scratch or a flick on her window pane opened her eyes. She slid the pillow off her face and sat up, hanging her feet from the side of the bed. With a tired hand she ran it through her hair and cracked her knuckles out of habit. With a gentle push she stood, rocking to her feet and haphazardly pulling herself to her window sill. She sat down on the seat, looking out over the city, while propping her feet in front of her, crossing at the ankles. She wriggled her boots off, staring blindly as they tumbled to the ground. Her hands folded absently into her lap, and just as she looked up, she saw those eyes.

She flung from her window sill and fell to the floor, landing on her hands and knees, luckily, like a cat. Her neck snapped upwards to the window and her eyes chaotically searched for the owner of such deep, deep eyes. And there he was, floating on the other side, head cocked, smile slim. Blinking those thick feathery eyelashes her way. She sat up, fixed her shirt and rose to the sill again, amazed. She crawled onto the sill pressing her hand to the glass. He laughed a hearty laugh and place his hand against hers from the other side. She could feel his warmth seep through and sooth her shaking fingers.

She scrambled to open the window, for fear that he might fall. Those sky blue eyes followed her, vaguely amused. She screamed a fumbled sentence or two, lunging out of the window to grasp his arm to pull him in. He resisted smoothly, without noticing her frantic behavior, and glided in to rest on the sill, just as she had been doing before his attempt to scare her into an early grave.

"Peter!" she shrieked and grabbed his hands looking for answers. Immediately her wide green eyes shot to his face, tossing his hands back into his lap. She stretched, jutting over him and out of the window to search for a ladder, a sign of support of some kind that led him to her.

"Kirsten," His voice like warm honey slowing her mind. "It's all alright." He softly laughed and molded his calm hands into her shivering palms. They embraced hers, and froze her there, staring in disbelief at their interwoven fingers.

She thrust them back at him, shoving them into his chest. She pulled herself away from him and began backing away. "How'd you get in here?" She questioned nervously and looked for objects in her bedroom to defend herself with.

"You let me in!" he laughed and placed his hands behind his head, resting and glancing over the city. "Don't you remember?"

"But, how'd you get up here?" She stopped, bewildered by his naïve response. "You … there's no ladder."

"Did I need one?" he seemed genuinely puzzled. "I can get one if you'd like."

"Did you climb?" She pointed slightly towards the gaping hole as the breeze tossed his gleaming hair across his closed eyes.

"Nope," he smirked. "I could've fallen." He opened his eyes carefully under the shield of his hair and studied her as before. But, just as slowly, closed them again and began humming a haunting, lovely tune.

"How then?" She dropped the book she'd grabbed to beat the intruder with and stood in amazement.

He sat up and flung his feet to the floor. With a shrug he stated, "I flew."

"Flew," Kirsten mocked him, disbelieving. She collectively turned and began walking out of the room. "You flew," She said again in the same dull voice.

She passed the study and began working her way down the winding halls. Peter appeared on the bench of the baby grand piano, straddling the seat. He sat his elbow on the keys with a sudden thud, causing them to explode into chaotic song as if in pain. His head fell into the support of his hand as he watched her.

She paused. He'd beaten her there without passing her. Should that be considered normal?

Kirsten continued walking when she heard unearthly beautiful music flowing out of the room after her. Her feet quit moving and spun her around, and soon she comprehended that she was walking back to the source of her insanity.

Peter was innocently hunched over the large, glistening keys with steady, fantastic fingers flying to reach their mark. The notes were flowing so smoothly and tenderly, yet daring and disastrous and they slammed into Kirsten's ears. He was laughing out loud, this boy, with caressing, airy sounds mimicking the ocean's calm waves padding against the shore.

"So, Peter. You can fly," she said. It was more a statement than a question as she sat on the empty side of the bench. Her back faced the keys and she turned only her head to him. He'd returned to looking at the keys instead of her. He mumbled a simple noise to confirm her statement, the song slowed now into a drifting, velvety tone.

The windows were open and the setting sun was setting the rosewood on fire everywhere around them. The wind had settled and the moon was beginning to shine through the crimson sky. Peter was ending the song when he turned to her.

"I think I'll see you again," He was almost talking to himself. "If that's alright."

"It is, I guess," She tilted her head to study his intentions. "It's alright, I mean."

He smiled and his eyes danced with pleasure. "Very soon, then?"

"Very," She smiled back and watched him walk out of the room and into the hall. She noticed he had chosen to walk out of her house instead of fly. It was a nice gesture by Peter considering that she might have passed out if she actually watched him fly out of a third story window. Kirsten sat and watched as the sun disappeared, the reds turned to blues, and the blues into indigos. The stars were mirroring the lighting street lamps below and the clouds all but disappeared as light poured in to cool her still burning cheeks.

She began closing and latching the windows, one by one, circling the room with a well practiced technique. She ran her finger over the keys on her way out, lifting a run of random notes into the silent night air.


End file.
